Burning Bridges
by Woman of Letters
Summary: Sam is applying for Stanford. John won't let him go, but will Dean? This is the story of Sam leaving for Stanford, told from Dean's point of view.


**Burning Bridges**

By Woman of Letters

Chapter 1: Sparks Smoldering

**April 1993**

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, an almost ten-year-old Sam beside him. The sunset cast a red glow on the boys, the car, and the field around them. Just a few feet away, across the field, lay the back of their motel du jour, but neither were rushing to go in. Sitting like this had become a favorite pastime for the boys, one their dad grudgingly allowed even though technically the Impala was still his... and would be until Dean passed his driving test. _Just another three years until I can sit behind her wheel_, Dean thought. He already thought of her as his Baby, though he was careful not to say it where his dad or Sam could hear.

Dean let go of his longing to drive and breathed deeply, loving the moment. These quiet, slow times came so rarely to the Winchesters. The fiery shadows of the setting sun made the world around them look like it was on fire. The seeming flames lit not just on them, but on the workmen across the road, repairing an old iron-truss bridge. Dean and Sam watched the construction crew replace supports, swapping rusty iron beams for newer ones. The process was slow and the workmen took frequent breaks, but Dean found it hard to tear his eyes away. He felt like he could sit for hours. He hoped the sunset didn't mean they were going to stop.

"That's not always possible," said Sam, as he leaned against the rear window of the Impala, his floppy brown hair curling into his eyes.

"What's not possible?" Dean asked, reaching over and brushing the windblown locks affectionately.

"You can't always build it up again," said Sam. "Sometimes the structure's so rotten, all you can do is tear it down."

X X X

**Monday, April 15, 2002**

The dim hotel lighting cast shadows on the wall; the feeble glow coming off the incandescent bulb matched the dim flicker of Dean's lighter as he prepared to burn the letter. The letter that could destroy his family and take Sam away from him forever.

The red and white letterhead proclaimed "Stanford University". Those words were as bitter to Dean as they were honey on the tongue to Sam. They were Sam's great torch, his hope of salvation, the manna that got him through the day. Dean checked the post office box for mail each time he made a supply run and every time Sam would take Dean aside and ask, "Did the letter come?" Dean was Dad's faithful lieutenant, not subjected to the same level of suspicious scrutiny as Sam. And of course, since Sam trusted Dean with his life, it was only natural for him to include his brother in his great plan of escape.

All of which placed Dean smack in the middle of a battle between the two people he loved more than life itself, so holding the lighter gave him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. But Sam could never see this letter. For his own good. Dean had had the letter for a week already, and he'd read and reread it until he knew it by heart.

_We are delighted to inform you that we are accepting Samuel Winchester to our prestigious academy, on full scholarship. To secure a place as an incoming Freshman for the Fall semester, we must receive his reply by May 1, 2002._

Dean knew there was no help for it. He'd hesitated long enough. Sam was in school and wouldn't be back for at least another hour. It was time the letter went up in smoke. He brought the white parchment paper closer to the flame.

Still, Dean stopped himself. All these years, he'd been Sam's protector, his confidant, the one person Sam could depend on in a world that was chaotic, undependable, out of control. He was crossing a line here, betraying Sam's trust. No, Dean decided, he couldn't do this. He extinguished the lighter. He would show Sam the letter tonight. He'd have to somehow convince his hard-headed brother not to go.

Sam burst into the room. "Guess what, Dean? We had a free..." He stopped, seeing the letter and the lighter in Dean's hands. "Hey, what are you burning?"

Dean tried to hide the letter. "Nothing, Sam, I was just putting away my lighter..."

Sam snatched the letter from Dean's hands. His eyes caught the logo of the college. "Stanford University?"

"I was going to show it to you..."

"No you weren't."

"I was, Sam. You've got to believe me."

"Shut up!" Sam was reading the letter. "They accepted me, Dean! On full scholarship!" What Dean read on his brother's expressive face nearly broke Dean's heart; the elation and excitement at being accepted turned to anger and bitter betrayal. Sam's hands were gripping the letter tightly and he looked down at his brother. "You weren't going to tell me. You were going to burn it!"

"No, I wasn't."

"Don't lie to me!" Sam shouted. "I found you with the lighter in your hand."

"I'd just put out the lighter, Sammy." He reached out and gripped Sam's arm, but Sam pushed him away. Dean clenched his fist and lowered his hand, suddenly unsure of where to put it.

"I was going to give it to you tonight." In his plea for understanding, Dean tried to show his feelings of regret, but his voice sounded flat even to his own ears. Damn it, he wasn't Sam, he just wasn't good at these chick flick moments. And his brother was already so wound up, Dean could tell he wasn't listening.

"I don't believe you! You were playing me all along... You never wanted me to see that letter. What was this, some kind of game to you?"

"You are such a bitch sometimes. Do you really believe I would do that?" Dean couldn't keep the hurt from his voice. He clenched his fist tighter, nails digging into his palms.

His brother stared at him and Dean held his breath.

"I don't know, Dean. Tell me you wouldn't keep something from me if you thought it was in my best interest."

Dean couldn't respond. _Of course I would._

"I thought so."

"Yeah - so what?" he snapped, fed up with his brother's lack of trust. "And you wouldn't keep something from me if you thought it would hurt me?"

"That's different, Dean. This is different. This is my life, my freedom, my choice! The whole time you were setting me up... you don't want me to leave!"

"Of course I don't want you to leave, Sammy. But this wasn't a setup! Really..." Dean could tell his words were having no effect at all. "Sam, I didn't burn the letter. In the end I wasn't going to. Doesn't that count for something?"

Sam didn't answer.

"What about all the years I took care of you, huh? Stood up for you against Dad? And the game we played to get you up to speed with hunting? Doesn't that count?"

Sam was silent.

Dean didn't know what he wanted more – to strike the table, to pound some sense into his brother, or to beat his head against the wall.

"Yeah, I see it all means crap," Dean said in disgust.

"Dean... " Sam looked down at his fingers, the knuckles white from the force of his grip on the letter. "This was so important to me. That you'd even think of burning it... I just don't know if I can ever trust you again."

The words were like a knife in Dean's gut. He knew how much this meant to his brother. _Now how am I gonna convince him not to leave?_

His brother continued twisting the knife. "Your games don't matter, Dean. I'm going to college and nothing you say can stop me."

The door of the hotel swung open. Sam stuffed the letter into his backpack and zipped it closed, just in time.

Their dad's familiar deep voice reverberated through the room.

"What's going on?"

Dean and Sam both jumped.

"Oh, n..nothing," Sam stammered. "Just talking to Dean about my day."

"Yeah, you know, Dad...the normal geek bitchfest."

"Jerk," Sam said, but when their dad's back was turned, his glare to Dean said _This isn't over._

And it wasn't. Sam stopped speaking to Dean that night, except for what was absolutely necessary. The great freeze had begun.

X X X


End file.
